PreHatch: The Story of Desmond and Kelvin
by Got Scots
Summary: I wrote this story a while ago, BEFORE I found out about the season finale being Desmondcentric. I hope you can enjoy what I think Desmond's past is like. MY FIRST FAN FIC!


Pre-Hatch

The story of Desmond and Kelvin.

This was no island--it was a jungle! Desmond and a group of five others who had survived the ship crash, were now having a little trouble staying alive in this part of the island. It had only been two days on this retched place, but already they had run out of coconuts and food. Desmond had willingly volunteered to explore another end of the island with Effie in hopes of more food.

"Your slacking," Effie pointed out rudely.

Desmond trudged a little faster--just fast enough to keep up with her. "I'm looking," he informed her, "for food. That _is_ what we're supposed to be doing."

Effie rolled her eyes and purposely pulled back a pricker bush for herself and then let it whack Desmond in the face. "Oww!" Des yelped. He disgustedly yanked a pricker out of his skin and tossed it on the ground.

A few steps later, Effie turned back to Desmond, who she caught plucking another pricker out of his lip, and said, "Look over there."

Des gazed up at a tree blooming with bananas. He smiled and then winced because it hurt. "Food," he tried to say with the pricker still in his bottom lip. The two of them marched even faster toward the tree and once they reached it, Effie began to climb up. "You sure you can do it?" Desmond asked from below.

"I'm sure," Effie grumbled. She slowly scooted her way up the tree using her feet and by wrapping her hands around the trunk of the tree. Finally, she reached a banana. Slowly, her arm reached up and grabbed a bunch of about seven bananas. She yanked them off the tree and threw them down at Desmond.

He hadn't _really_ been paying attention and he failed to catch the tribe's lunch. The bunch pounded the dirt floor and Des ran to pick them up. Effie shot him an evil eye. "Ready," he smiled.

There were only two other bunches of bananas left on the tree and Desmond was unsuccessful in catching either of them. He smiled as he gathered them all together on the ground and Effie's feet hit the dirt floor. Effie remarked, "If we had made it to the marathon, you surely would've lost."

Their ship was heading from Scotland to a marathon in the US where Desmond had hoped to win. He had been training for the marathon for a year now, and it was all he could think of. He was sure it was all Effie could think of as well. Hopefully, someone would find them soon and take them to the US just in time for the start of it. Hopefully…

"Marathons don't involve catching," Desmond smirked.

Effie picked up one of the banana bunches and then turned to Desmond. "One of the banana bunches up there… it's missing."

"What do you mean?" Desmond asked--a little confused by the fact that Effie actually could look both scared and serious.

"There _were_ four banana bunches on that tree before we got here," she frowned.

"Monkeys?" Desmond smiled. He continued to walk in the direction of the camp.

"No," Effie said flatly. "It was cut off with a knife."

Desmond stared up at the tree and then searched all around it. No signs of life at all. "Let's get these back to the camp. We can come back later to--" but Effie had already dropped her bananas and began walking past the tree. She pushed aside bushes and plants and continued walking as if she could sense where the people may have come from.

"Effie," Desmond dropped his bananas. "I can't go back with out you. C'mon, we'll just go back to camp."

Effie kept walking.

"Uh--please, can't we come back tomorrow?"

Effie marched out of sight.

"Effieee!"

Now, Desmond was running to catch up with her. Frantically, his eyes scanned the scenery but couldn't find any movement. "Effie! Effie! Effie Gordon, get back here, now!" he tried. But his lonesome Scottish accent just danced with the breeze, going absolutely nowhere. He brushed back leaves and bushes and saw something rattle a tree branch to the far left. "Wait!" he called and chased the now crooked branch.

Finally he turned a corner to meet the source of the movement. Breath left Des's mouth as he stopped short before he ran into the filthy man. Mud had moulded across his entire jumpsuit that clearly read "Dharma" on the right side. His long, messy brown hair slightly resembled Desmond's curly, auburn mess that sprawled across the top of _his_ head. The man grinned and lifted his hands in the air as if he were under arrest. "Sorry to keep you following me," he said in a thorough American accent.

"You weren't on the ship," Desmond mumbled.

"No, I was not," the man laughed, "good observation."

Desmond's eyebrows melted down his forehead until they remained in a horrified position. His mouth hung wide open. The man looked down at his watch and then frowned. He bounced on his toes--almost running off again. He waited a few seconds, watching Desmond still stand there, dumbfounded and that's when he ran off into the woods.

Full of questions, Des raced to follow the man, who didn't stop after he realized Desmond was following him. He ran even faster. So fast, that he was hard to keep track of. He obviously knew this jungle very well because he turned sharp corners and winding pathways that Desmond didn't even have time to realize were there.

Finally, the man turned around to face Des who had to stop himself from colliding into him. The man said breathlessly, "Are you gonna keep following me?"

Desmond gave him a puzzled stare. He didn't know what to say.

"Alright then," the man said. When Desmond didn't reply, he added, "Hurry, hurry, come with me." He began to slow his pace, but he did _not_ know that Desmond was a marathon runner.

* * *

It was called the hatch. It was a small, living space built underground. The cement walls gave the air a cold, brisk feeling. The Dharma symbol sewn onto the man's jumpsuit was everywhere on the walls.

There was a room. A damp, musty room that reminded Desmond of his cellar back home in Scotland. It was no cellar, though. It was shaped like dome and it was a computer room--filled with old computer machines and devices that beeped and blinked. The man rushed over to one of the computers that was beeping very deafeningly. He didn't have time to sit down. He glanced up at the wall directly across from him at a number counter that read 2 minutes and 26 seconds. The man took a relieved, deep breath. His fingers expertly typed:

4 8 15 16 23 42

It stopped. The loud beeping blaring though out the room--it stopped. The number counter rolled the numbers back to 108 minutes and the man stood up and sighed. "That was close," he wiped his sweaty, grimy forehead with his hand.

"_What_ was close? What was that?" Desmond demanded.

"That thing?" the man asked. He patted the top of the computer gently. "It's a computer. You type in the code every one-oh-eight minutes and then it starts again."

"Why?" Desmond asked. He walked over to glance at the screen. It was completely blank except for a blinking curser. "What happens if you don't?"

The man shrugged, "It didn't say. …My name's Kelvin by the way." He reached out to shake Desmond's hand.

"Desmond," he said quickly as he shook Kelvin's hand. "_What _didn't say?" He walked around the room, glancing at every little button and trigger. "What _is_ this place?"

* * *

"Do not attempt to use the computer for any--thank you for…"

Desmond glanced away from the video. Why had the man's voice just been cut off? It was like a piece of the tape was missing. Do not attempt to use the computer for _what_? He turned over to face Kelvin, ignoring the ending to the Dharma Intuitive video. "Where's the missing part?" he asked.

Kelvin shrugged. "I've seen this film a few times now. Always wondered the same thing. …I don't know, though. I've searched the entire bunker."

"You don't _know_?" Desmond asked. He kicked the table in frustration.

Kelvin just shrugged.

"What about your replacements? When are they coming?"

"Soon," Kelvin replied, "It's been eight years, now. Eight _long _years."

"Eight years you've been down here?" Desmond asked.

"Yep," Kelvin replied. "It's a horrible life. I get up each morning and know that it's going to be the same boring thing each day--anyways, I heard your ship crash. That's why I came up and found you."

With the mention of the ship, Des remembered the rest of the group. "What about the others? The other survivors of the crash? And Effie. I've got to bring them down here."

"No," Kelvin said crossly. "I only need one assistant. And you will do."

"But Ivar and Effie and Ew--"

"No," Kelvin said again. "They'll be fine on their own."

"No they won't," Desmond warned. "I wasn't following _you_ in the jungle. I was following Effie. It was like something just washed over her. She started running in this one direction and she wouldn't stop. I couldn't find her."

"Ah, yes but we _can't_ have them down here. I had specific instructions given to me. The people on this island… there's something wrong with them. Contaminated or something…" Kelvin searched the back of his mind for the information.

"_I'm_ contaminated?" Desmond asked stupidly.

"No, no, I'm sure it's not you. There are others."

"Others?" Desmond asked.

"Yep. During the 108 minutes I have, sometimes I go outside for some fresh air. It's highly disapproved, but I like it. Otherwise… I'd go crazy!" Kelvin laughed again.

"And you find people?" Desmond asked.

Kelvin shrugged again.

"My people," Des concluded.

"No," Kelvin disagreed. "It was before you came. They had knives and stuff," he laughed, "they scared me! I rarely get out anymore."

_Knifes? _Desmond asked himself. _The same knives used to cut down that bunch of bananas?_

* * *

_It is fine. Everything is fine. Kelvin is asleep and I have one-hundred and eight minutes to spare. It's fine. _Desmond broke into a run.

He could feel his feet pound the soft soil and crunch dead leaves. He could feel the fresh air glide around his body and brush his face. He could feel the sun press it's light into his shut eyelids. He could feel his heart beat _freedom. Sweet freedom! _Oh, how good it felt to finally be outside again.

It had been two weeks now. Two weeks of him silently obeying Kelvin's every word. He had promised Kelvin he would not go outside, for Kelvin still feared the others. But Des could not stand the suspense anymore. What had happened to the rest of them? Ivar? Effie? Yes, what had happened to Effie? That's what kept him running more than the freedom of running itself.

Desmond was not quite sure which direction his old camp was. He guessed a direction that seemed familiar to him. As he followed his made up path he wondered what really had happened to the rest of them. And what would he do if one of them saw him? And what had they done when he and Effie had not returned?

When he turned a corner, he found his direction was the right one. He faced an empty clearing where the others had apparently set up camp. He looked around at the empty camp and realized that the Scots who had been here earlier did not plan on leaving. They looked like they were forced out of their pleasant clearing. Suitcases and clothes were scattered on the grass among fruits and personal belongings frantically flung to the island's floor.

Desmond looked around and took his time. They were not coming back, after all. After a thorough search, he could find nothing of his own and decided to head back to the hatch. He turned slowly, giving one last look to the site, but saw nothing recognizable. _What had happened to his things? And what had happened to everyone else? _

* * *

4 8 15 16 23 42

Des sighed as he watched the number counter rapidly flip back each number until it reached one-hundred and eight again. It looked as if it were hurriedly rolling back time… and it was.

He sat down at the chair next to the computer and pulled out a notebook. He was about to start drawing yet another picture of the inside of the hatch, but his heart stopped him. It had been only two days since he had seen the vacant camp, but his curiosity crawled back to the vision every minute. The tipped luggage, the forgotten late dinners, the hastily thrown clothes--all these images flashed back into his mind within a few short seconds.

Abruptly, he stood up from his chair and listened for Kelvin's snoring. Yep. The coast was clear. Carefully, Desmond began to sneak outside.

Once he reached the void site again, he patted the ground and checked the surroundings for any signs that would tell him how his people were taken. Nestled between a few blades of grass, he spotted something silver. He reached for the sparkly, silver thing and turned it over in his hand. It was a cameo necklace. On one side it had a cameo of an angel. Desmond flipped it over again. On the back, it read: Made in Crieff, Scotland. Desmond's eyes flickered to a spot above that. Engraved at the top was: To My Dearest Euphemia. It was Effie's!

He jingled the necklace in his hand and stood up. Still with no clues of where they had been taken, he started towards the ship. That's when he saw it. A clue. He looked to his left and saw the sand was a little disturbed. Parts of the sand even resembled footprints! And they made a perfect path too--right down the beach.

With only a hundred minutes left to spare, Des headed down that part of the beach. He followed the trail down the beach for about a half a mile. Then, the footprints started to head inwards, back toward the jungle. So, naturally, Desmond followed them in there too.

At first he could follow the jungle footprints by little traces of sand. But after a little while the trail had become extremely vague. Desmond was not an expert at tracking--he was a marathon runner. So he glanced down at his watch and did what he did best. He ran all the way home.

"What have you done?" Kelvin cried. He stared in disbelief as he watched Desmond try to discreetly re-enter the hatch.

Desmond lightly dusted off his jumpsuit and smiled, "Just a little exploring."

"A little exploring?" Kelvin exaggeratedly asked. "You've got yourself contaminated!" He didn't dare touch Desmond, but he frantically guided him to the shower. "Take off that jumpsuit. I'm throwing it out," he ordered. Desmond obeyed. "Eh… actually _you_ throw it out," Kelvin changed his mind, still afraid of becoming contaminated.

Desmond asked, "I didn't go near anyone. I don't see why--"

"Stop," Kelvin said. "Take a nice, long shower. No complaints. And I don't want to see you out there again."

"You sound like my mother…" Desmond mumbled.

* * *

His shadow slinked across the dark skyline, perfectly slithering behind every tree trunk, hoping not to get caught. _I just need a bit of fresh air, that all, _Des reassured himself. He crept in the jungle until he could feel the soft sand beneath his feet. He listened to the serene sound of waves washing closer to the shore, stealing a bit of sand with them before they left. He inhaled the scent of the stars, the sand, the sky as if it were a drug. He weaved his fingers in and out of the sand beneath him and felt the tiny grains tickle every inch of his skin. He leaned his head back and let out a sigh.

He thought. He thought about his little town of Callander back home and the massive, rising and falling hills and the precious green grass. He thought of his house and he remembered the way he used to wake up each morning and run four miles after breakfast. He remembered the scent of good old Scotch woodcock, one of his favourite Scottish breakfasts.

He sat and thought for a while. Every single one of his thoughts leading back to some sort of food. It was after he thought of delicious, buttery pancakes that he decided to head back to the hatch for a bite to eat.

"Hello?" Desmond called. His voice echoed throughout the entire hatch. He stopped and listened. He could not hear Kelvin's usual snoring at all. The chill of being alone in a dark hatch shot up his spine. It was also kind of unnerving that the door of the hatch had been left open. He was pretty sure he didn't do that.

Quickly, Desmond tip-toed down the stairs, suspiciously checking every single corner that darkness curled itself into. He reached the bottom of the stair and his shoes clanked when they hit the hard, metal floor. "Kelvin?" he hollered. Once again, no reply.

Finally, he made his way to the computer room. Des held his breath. Kelvin was laid across the metal chair beside the computer, his leg and chest bleeding furiously. He looked as though he had been stabbed with a knife. _A knife. _

Sparks of terror flickered in Desmond's eyes as he watched Kelvin take one last gasp of air. "Kelvin!" he cried. The man was still alive. Des rushed over to him and tried to lift him into what he considered a comfortable position. "Who could've--" Desmond began, but he was interrupted by the dying Kelvin.

"Don't… go… back… outside," Kelvin warned. Desmond watched life slowly unscrew out of his companion's eyes. He couldn't help the tear that meandered it's way down his cheek.

"Kelvin, no! No, you can't… die," Desmond choked on every word he was most horrified to say. Kelvin's eyelids slowly sunk shut as if they were being weighed down by the very grains of sand Desmond had just sat on down at the beach. His body slumped and he left all his weight for Desmond to gently set on the floor.

Petrified, Desmond's body slumped as well and he pounded the floor with his fist before he hysterically sobbed. _Who had killed Kelvin? Why had they done it? How had they gotten into the hatch from the outside? How could I have let this happen? Why did I have to survive? What will I do now? How long will I be alone? When will my replacements come_?

It all started with one question that had ignited in Desmond's mind and spread itself quicker than a forest fire. Oh, how badly he wanted to go out there and find Kelvin's killer right now. But he knew Kelvin was right. He _couldn't_ go outside. He would just have to wait until the others came to him. But how long would that take?


End file.
